Born Evil

by Kimberley Chambers

  June was in shock as she looked at the state of her outfit. ‘You evil little bastard!’ she screamed. Crying with anger, she ran up the stairs, leaving Peter to deal with the child from hell.

  ‘You are a nasty, naughty, horrible little boy. You will go to bed this very minute,’ Peter said as he dragged the hysterical child up the stairs.

  ‘Bastard, bastard, bastard,’ Charlie screamed.

  Peter opened the bedroom door. ‘Get in that bed and go to sleep now, child.’

  Charlie hated his granddad. Screwing his face up, he spat at him and missed.

  Overcome by anger, Peter lifted the brat off the bed by his left arm and repeatedly smacked his bottom.

  Though still extremely flustered, June and Peter managed to pull themselves together in time to greet their guests. As host and hostess they had a reputation second to none, and were determined to keep it that way.

  At five to midnight, Peter tuned into a local radio station. ‘Ten, nine, eight, seven … ’

  June cracked open the vintage champagne. ‘ … six, five, four, three, two, one. Happy New Year!’ As Auld Lang Syne blared out from the speakers, the three couples stood in a circle, arms crossed.

  Charlie sat bolt upright in bed. The music, screams and guffaws had woken him. Deep in thought, he sucked his thumb. He hated living in this horrible house. He’d been happy before, living in the flat with his daddy. Why hadn’t his daddy come to get him? He hadn’t seen him since they’d played the scary window game. His dad had been upset that night. He was crying when he’d gone off with the nasty policemen.

  Charlie grabbed hold of his new toy and hugged him. His nan had taken Mr Teddy away from him because he was covered in blood. She’d said that Mr Teddy was ill and needed to go into hospital, like Mummy. She’d given him Deputy Dawg to play with instead. Apparently, the dog had belonged to his mum when she was a little girl. No longer tired, Charlie toddled downstairs to see what all the commotion was about. Peter was horrified to see him appear, and quickly scooped the child into his arms.

  Hilary Forsyth-Smith and her husband Duncan had never been lucky enough to conceive a child themselves. ‘Oh, look, bless him! Please let him stay for a while, Peter,’ Hilary pleaded.

  ‘Goodness, no, it’s way past his bedtime,’ Peter said firmly.

  ‘Pleeease.’ Hilary was extremely drunk and wasn’t taking no for an answer. ‘Aren’t you a little cutie?’ she said, tickling Charlie under his chin. ‘And look at your little Superman pyjamas … aren’t they adorable? Please, Peter, let me hold him.’

  Seeing Hilary’s outstretched arms and noticing the mad ‘I’m desperate for a baby’ glint in her eye, he didn’t have the heart to say no. He had to put on an act. He’d spent ages earlier telling his guests how he and June had taken the boy in and were caring for him like he was their own. He hadn’t mentioned what a little bastard the child was, naturally, but had made the situation sound idyllic, Granny, Grandpa and cute little Charlie. He knew without a doubt that he had scored political brownie points with Duncan with that act, just as he’d intended. He could hardly banish the child now.

  Peter stood watching Hilary dote on the child, feeling very on edge. ‘Come on then, Charlie,’ he said finally, feeling that these past ten minutes spent without incident were more than he could have hoped for. Better not push his luck.

  ‘Show me how your little doggy walks,’ Hilary said, still all gooey and starry-eyed.

  ‘Don’t wanna,’ Charlie said, hugging the toy close to his chest.

  ‘Oh, pleeease, come on. Auntie Hilary wants to see Doggy Woggie.’

  Wriggling out of the madwoman’s arms, Charlie turned to look at her. She reminded him of a horse with her great big teeth. Knowing he was about to be whisked back off to bed by his surrogate grandfather, Charlie decided to go out in style. Giggling, he pulled down his pyjama bottoms, grabbed his dinkle and thrust it towards Hilary.

  ‘Suck my cock, suck my cock, suck my cock,’ he shouted, laughing gleefully.

  Hilary put her hand over her mouth in horror. She had never sucked Duncan’s dinkle in all the years they’d been married, the mere thought had always appalled her.

  June and Peter glanced at one another. Their party was well and truly over along with their reputation for respectability.

  Ordering June to take the child to bed at once, a shell-shocked Peter lit up one of his Hamlets and apologised profusely. He needn’t have bothered, the evening was already ruined.

  Hilary grabbed Duncan’s arm. ‘Could you take me home, dear? I am feeling rather faint and insist we leave immediately.’

  Duncan looked at Peter, raised his eyebrows and walked out.

  Peter said goodbye to the last of his guests and slammed the door. What a bloody show-up. He had never felt so embarrassed in the whole of his life. Charlie’s behaviour had just spelt the end of his political career, that was for sure. Word of tonight’s events would spread like wildfire amongst his colleagues, and where would that leave him? A bloody laughing stock, that’s where! He most certainly would not allow that to happen. Tomorrow he would do the decent thing and walk away with his head held high. His resignation from the Council would be handed in with immediate effect.

  FIFTEEN

  DEBBIE WAS FINALLY discharged from hospital, three weeks to the day after she was first admitted. The weather was dull, rainy and miserable, and it matched her mood completely. Yesterday was the first time she’d looked into a mirror since the beating and she’d been surprised she hadn’t cracked the bastard thing.

  Obviously, she had known all along that she’d lost a couple of her teeth and that her hair was now cropped. Her mum had brought Peter’s razor in and evened it up to match the side that had already been shaved. The nurses had forbidden her to look into a mirror until the bruises and swelling had lessened so she’d had no idea just how bloody repulsive she looked, until now. Hence her mood today as she hobbled out of the hospital on crutches alongside Mickey.

  Glancing at his watch, he realised it had taken them ten minutes to reach the end of the corridor. ‘Why don’t you let me get you a wheelchair? The nurses said you could borrow one.’

  Debbie paused and pulled the Nike baseball cap he’d lent her over her eyes. She could see all the passers-by staring at her, pitying expressions on their faces.

  ‘I am not being pushed about in one of them bloody things. What do you think I am, some kind of an invalid?’

  Mickey smiled to himself. Every day this week he’d seen more and more of the old Debbie return. She’d been entirely different with that bastard McDaid, a shadow of her former self.

  Glancing round at her, he clocked that she’d barely moved an inch in the last five minutes. Now Mickey might have a lot of virtues, but patience wasn’t one of them. ‘For fuck’s sake, Debs, we’ll be here all night at this rate! Sit on that fucking seat over there while I go and find you a wheelchair.’

  Watching her brother storm off in the direction from which they’d just come, Debbie allowed herself a wry smile. They weren’t even out of the hospital door and already they were arguing like cat and dog. They’d had a massive row yesterday when she’d first looked into the mirror.

  ‘Look at the fucking state of me, Mick. I look like a freak,’ she’d wailed, expecting some sympathy.

  Not that great with women’s hang-ups and insecurities, Mickey said what he thought she’d want to hear.

  ‘I think you look proper, Debs. I really like your hair cropped. I prefer it to when it was long. It suits you … makes you look pretty, like.’

  If Debbie had been sitting near enough, she’d have smacked him straight in the teeth. She had never looked pretty in the first place, let alone now.

  ‘Pretty! Are you having a laugh, Mick? I’ve got no fucking teeth and me hair looks like I’m suffering from terminal cancer. Pretty? I look like something out of bloody Cell Block H. Now fuck off and leave me alone.’

  Mickey had slunk from the room like a naughty puppy that had
just had its first scolding. ‘Fucking women, I’ll never understand ’em,’ he’d mumbled to himself.

  Hearing the rumble of the clapped out wheelchair approaching, Debbie’s thoughts snapped back to the present.

  Originally, it had been decided that for the first couple of weeks, she would stay with her mum and Peter, to help her out with Charlie and give her some time to recover. This idea, however, had gone out of the window last week. At the end of his tether, Peter could take no more and finally tackled June. ‘I’ll say this once and once only, my dear. I cannot spend another day around your grandson. That child is Lucifer himself. Either he goes or I do.’

  June had no choice but to pack up some stuff and move with Charlie into the pretty little two-bedroomed house that Mickey had rented for Debbie. She didn’t blame Peter. Secretly, she thought he’d been marvellous to suffer the child as long as he had. If the boot had been on the other foot, she couldn’t have put up with it.

  As Debbie arrived at her new home, which was literally five minutes from her mother’s, she felt her mood lift.

  ‘Oh, Mickey, it’s beautiful, I love it,’ she crowed as she hobbled excitedly from one room to another. It was spacious, modern, had a pretty garden and a massive kitchen. The house Mickey had found was absolutely ideal for her. Situated on the outskirts of Rainham and Elm Park, it formed part of a little close with nine other houses. It was a far cry from Junkie Town and Nelson Mandela House.

  ‘Mick, I’ll be so happy here! You’re the best brother in the whole wide world.’

  He smirked as she clung around his neck. He’d obviously done something right for once. Only yesterday she was calling him every cunt under the sun. Fuck getting married, he thought, as he hugged her back. Women were too unpredictable for his liking, he’d never understand their way of thinking.

  June watched her two children laughing and bantering and was secretly as proud as a peacock. Damien, as she still privately called Charlie, was upstairs asleep and it was nice to have a bit of quality time, just the three of them. She’d guessed by now that her Mickey was no party organiser. She didn’t care. He was her son, she loved him dearly, and what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.

  Leaving her kids chatting away happily in the lounge, June headed to the kitchen to make a brew. She was parched and guessed they must be as well.

  ‘Right, girls. I’ve got a bit of an announcement to make meself,’ Mickey said on her return.

  June put the mugs on to coasters and felt her heart leap with excitement. Maybe he was getting married? she thought as she fleetingly pictured her own outfit. She sat waiting with bated breath.

  Mickey smiled. ‘I’ve bought a little house down this way meself. I’ve wanted out of the East End for a while now. It’s changed so much up there, far too multicultural for my liking, so I decided Essex was to be me next move. A nice three-bedroomed gaff I bought. Got it on the cheap an’ all, I did. It needs a bit of work done, but me mate Steve’s gonna move down here with me, rent a room off me, like. He’s pretty handy and we can do any work that needs doing in our spare time.’

  ‘That’s fantastic son,’ June said, nearly choking on her biscuit. She wished he’d settle down properly, though, move in with a girl. She’d been hoping he would shack up with a Susie or a Sandra, not a bloody Steve. Surely he wasn’t gay, she thought. You never knew these days … Worried about him, she gave a half-smile.

  Mickey knew exactly which way his mother ticked and guessed what she was thinking. Deciding a wind-up was on the cards, he winked at Debbie and cleared his throat. ‘Look, Mum, Debs, there’s something I need to tell you and I don’t know how you’re gonna take it.’

  Trying not to laugh, he put on his most sincere expression and stared at his mother.

  ‘Oh, this is so awkward, I dunno where to start. I’ve known what I was from an early age, but was frightened to tell ya. So I rang that gay helpline and they told me I had to be honest. Me and Steve, Mum, we’re lovers and we’re hoping to get married this summer. A gay vicar has offered to do the service and, well, I was wondering if you could ask Peter to be my best man.’

  Debbie roared, unable to contain herself.

  June dropped her mug and its contents all over Debbie’s new carpet. Her handsome, macho son a shit-stabber … surely not? What would she say to Peter?

  Laughing hysterically, Mickey and Debbie held their stomachs. The look on their mother’s face was a picture, an absolute classic. ‘He’s winding you up,’ Debbie screamed.

  Relieved it had all been a big joke, June rushed out to the kitchen. Returning with a cloth, she got down on her hands and knees and mopped up the mess.

  It had been a long time since Debbie had had a laugh like this. Enjoying herself, she carried it on.

  ‘Can you imagine Mrs Bucket having to tell Peter and her friends that her son’s a raving iron!’

  Seeing the funny side herself now, June went into a fit of giggles and was unable to get up off her hands and knees. ‘Christ, don’t bend over with your arse up like that, Mum. Steve’ll be round in a minute and he always gives me a good seeing to when I’m in that position!’ Mickey shouted.

  The raucous laughter and crude humour went on for a good ten minutes and only came to a halt when a miserable-looking Charlie entered the room.

  ‘Mummy’s home, Charlie. Do you like our new house? Come and give me a cuddle,’ Debbie said happily.

  ‘I hate it. It’s ’orrible,’ Charlie replied tactlessly.

  The change in the atmosphere was like someone turning a switch off. Mickey glanced at his mother, threw his nephew a look of pure hatred, and feeling like Rodney Trotter once again, stood up.

  ‘Right, girls, I’ll let yous two get sorted now, I’m gonna shoot. I’ve gotta bit of business to sort out later.’

  Mickey kissed them both and, for Debbie’s sake, forced himself to say goodbye to Damien. When he got no reply from the ignorant little shit, he slammed the front door, jumped into his motor and shot up the A13.

  Mickey had really enjoyed the day with his mum and sis, but as usual that horrible fucking kid had spoiled things. Normally he loved children. Some of his mates had little ’uns and Mickey had all the time in the world for them, but Charlie was the devil in disguise. In fact, he was a ringer for his no-good cunt of an old man.

  Flicking through the radio channels, Mickey opted for Kiss FM. He liked rave music, it had made him wealthy. As he cranked the sound up as loud as it would go, he tried to banish to the back of his mind any thoughts of what he’d like to do to his nephew and bloody Billy McDaid.

  June and Debbie fell into a nice little routine over the next few days and Debbie was glad of her mother’s company.

  As usual the only fly in the ointment was Charlie, who continued to be rude, sullen and surly, showing neither his mum nor his nan any respect or affection at all.

  ‘I’m really at the end of my tether, Mum. I honestly don’t know what to do with him any more. I’ve tried everything. I’ve smacked him, taken his toys away, locked him in his room … but nothing seems to work. I just can’t seem to connect with him. Billy could, he had him eating out the palm of his hand, but me … I just feel like he hates me. And I’m his mother, for Christ’s sake.’

  Not knowing what to say to Debbie in case she said the wrong thing, June suggested that they open the bottle of wine Peter had given her earlier. ‘To help you cope,’ he’d said sarcastically. He was bloody spot on, June thought as she poured it.

  ‘What am I gonna do, Mum?’

  ‘I don’t know, Debs, I really don’t. You and Mickey were angels compared to Charlie, and I thought you were both naughty at the time. You’ve just got to hope that he’ll change when he starts proper school in September.’

  ‘Please God he does, Mum, but I can’t see him changing. I’ve never told you before but he got excluded from nursery school for being a little bastard. He walloped a couple of kids there and flashed his willy at the teacher.’

  June sighed and
decided now was as good a time as any to tell Debbie about the New Year’s Eve débâcle.

  ‘Oh, Mum, I’m so sorry. I feel terrible. You must have been horrified.’

  ‘Well, it was a night to remember, Debbie, especially when the little sod started shouting “suck my cock” at Hilary. You know how posh Peter’s political friends are? As for Peter, he was that mortified, he handed in his resignation the following day.’

  Debbie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. June made the decision for her. The two glasses of wine she’d drunk had gone straight to her head and she erupted into a fit of giggles.

  ‘I know we shouldn’t be laughing, Debbie, but if you’d have been there and seen this Hilary’s face! It was a picture, love.’

  ‘Oh, Mum. The Tory Party was Peter’s life. Fancy him having to leave because of Charlie.’

  ‘Well I ain’t gotta put up with his boring friends no more. I never liked ’em much anyway. And a least now he’s got more time to do my fucking garden!’ Screaming with laughter, June topped up their glasses.

  Mickey was sitting in the Needle Gun, having a quiet pint with Big Steve, when he received an unexpected phone call from an old pal of his, Tommy the Fence.

  ‘What’s occurring? Long time no hear from. How you been, Tom?’

  Never a man for exchanging pleasantries, Tommy came straight to the point.

  ‘Just to let you know, Bobby Turner was up in court today and that McDaid that did your sister walked … he got bail. Just thought you should know, son.’

  The line went dead. Downing his pint in one, Mickey nodded to Steve to hurry up and finish his. ‘What’s the rush?’ he asked, innocently.

  ‘McDaid. They’ve let him go. Now it’s our turn to prosecute the cunt, Stevie boy.’

  SIXTEEN

  BILLY MCDAID WASN’T AS easy to find as they’d first thought, and spending day in, day out, scouring around the piss-hole pubs in Barking wasn’t Mickey’s idea of fun. By day five he’d had a gutful of it and needed a break.